


You've Got to Be Kitten Me Right Meow

by muchmorethanaprincess



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Humor, halloween themed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-24 09:22:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8366923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muchmorethanaprincess/pseuds/muchmorethanaprincess
Summary: prompt: one of them gets turned into a cat and the other has to take care of them until it's reversedClarke's a little surprised when Wells shows up at her door with a cat, begging her to take it, but she goes with it.





	

Wells shows up on Clarke’s doorstep on the first day of October with a disgruntled looking black cat in his arms. He’s still in his police uniform—probably just got off his shift, given the time.

“What’s going on?” she asks, glancing from his face to the cat. Wells isn’t really a cat person.

“I sort of adopted a cat.”

“I can see that.”

“I need you to take him,” Wells says in a rush.

“You adopted a cat, that you’re going to pawn off on me? Why did you adopt it in the first place?”

Wells shuffles on his feet. “There was a security issue at the shelter – I got talked into it. And I know that black cats have a worse chance of being adopted, because you told me that! I couldn’t say no. But I don’t know what I’m doing, please take him.”

“So basically, you adopted a cat for me.”

“Early Christmas present?” Wells says hopefully.

“Not likely. You owe me.”

“What are you talking about? You’ve always wanted a cat.”

“Yeah, but I kind of assumed I’d choose my own. Does he have a name?” She reaches forward to scratch under the cat’s chin, but he turns his head away from her. She feels sufficiently rebuffed, which distracts her from the fact that Wells hasn’t answered yet.

“Uh, boo!” he blurts out when she looks up at him.

“What?”

“His name is Boo.”

“Oookay.”

Wells is determinedly not looking at the Halloween decoration hanging on her front door – a wreath covered with fall-colored leaves, dotted with mini pumpkins, all framing the word “Boo!” in the center. So Clarke likes Halloween. There are worse things.

“Okay, Boo. I guess I’m stuck with you.” She takes the cat from Wells’ arms, but only barely succeeds. The creature pushes its paws against her chest, leaning away.

“Well, Boo doesn’t like me, great,” she says, as she lowers the cat and he jumps out of her arms, wandering into her living room.

“So he’s a little prickly. You’ll get on his good side, I’m sure.”

“You had to adopt the prickly cat?” She raises her eyebrows at him.

“Yeah, well, he sort of picked me.” Wells looks a little helpless, so she decides to take mercy on him.

“I’ll keep the cat for now,” she says. “But you should probably leave before I change my mind.”

“Right, yes, I’ll get out of here right now.” He glances at the cat, perched on the arm of Clarke’s couch and staring at them disdainfully, before walking back to his car quickly.

Clarke sets about preparing dinner for herself (a grilled cheese) and puts dinner in a dish on the floor for the cat (the cat food she keeps in the cupboard for the strays that come around sometimes). But when she plates her grilled cheese and turns to sit down at the kitchen table, the cat ( _Boo_ , she corrects herself, though that’s the fucking weirdest cat name she’s ever heard) is sitting next to the food bowl, looking up at her with something that seems strangely like…disbelief?

“Eat,” she says.

Boo sniffs at the food, then turns his nose up.

“Fine, don’t eat. You’ll be hungry eventually.”

After dinner, she gets out the litter box she’s kept from past cat-sitting experiences, and sets it up in her guest bathroom. She makes sure to close the door of her art workroom, thinking that the last thing she needs is for the cat to tear up her canvases.

She almost closes her bedroom door before she goes to sleep, but catches herself. Her childhood cat didn’t like being locked out of rooms, and she doesn’t want Boo to wake her up at three in the morning howling because he’s lonely. So she leaves the door cracked open, and falls asleep quickly enough.

 

She doesn’t know what time he comes in, but when she wakes up the next morning, Boo is curled in a circle, lying against her hip.

“Hi buddy,” she coos, petting his head and scratching behind his ears. He leans into her hand for a moment, but then his eyes blink open. He scrambles up, backing away from her and jumping off the bed, trotting out of the room.

Clarke sighs. Looks like the cat’s affection is going to be more difficult to earn.

 

When she gets to the kitchen for coffee and breakfast, Boo is sitting at the sliding door, looking outside. He looks up at her, then back outside.

“If you think you’re going to run away, you’ve got another thing coming,” she mumbles, pouring a mug of coffee for herself. Boo only looks at her plaintively.

“It’s cold outside, what do you want?”

But when she checks the litterbox and finds it completely untouched, she thinks she knows.

“I swear to god, if you disappear, I’m not even apologizing to Wells,” she says as she opens the door to the backyard. Boo walks through calmly, going straight for the flowerbed and walking behind a bush. A minute later, he’s back, his paws a little dirty, padding into the kitchen.

“Well that’s convenient.”

She gets him water, which he drinks, but he still won’t look at the cat food. She’s a little concerned that she’ll have to go buy a different brand, or call the shelter to find out what they could get him to eat, until she pulls out ham to add to her omelet, and he’s suddenly at her feet, meowing and lifting a paw like he wants to grab it from her.

“Oh, I get it. You just want to be spoiled rotten. Fine.”

She puts a few slices on a plate for him, which he eats happily while she finishes her omelet.

“What else do you like? Would turkey be acceptable? Chicken? Should I get you a whole cow to snack on?” she asks. He licks his lips.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she grumbles, and makes a note to pick up more deli meat when she goes grocery shopping.

 

Clarke doesn’t see Boo for a few hours while she sits in her makeshift office, which would be a guest room if she ever had guests, going through her bills and looking over her bank account. She emails a few employers about their graphic design requests and gets started on a few, and it isn’t until she moves to her art workroom in the afternoon that Boo seems to care about her at all.

She’s listening to soft music while she paints, working on a personal project, when Boo walks in. He looks away from her when she glances at him, staring at the wall.

“Weirdo,” she mutters, but she goes back to painting, determined to ignore the way her cat seems to think he’s above paying any attention to her. Still, she watches him out of the corner of her eye as he wanders around the room, looking at the canvases sitting out and the sketches she’s tacked to the wall. He rubs his body against the legs of her chair before settling at her feet. He watches her paint for a few hours, dozing off and waking up when she sings along softly to the music playing.

 

It’s easy to fall into a routine with Boo, mostly because he hardly deigns to notice her existence. She lets him out, she feeds him, and he sleeps in various places around the house for most daylight hours.

 

Wells comes over after a few days to check in, and Boo walks right past him, ignoring the hand he holds out. Instead, Boo jumps from the back of the couch to the top of the antique cabinet, which is nearly six feet tall. He sprawls across the surface and watches them with an expression that Clarke can only interpret as utter disdain as she sits on the couch with Wells to talk. She shoots Boo a confused glare, but he only stares back, unaffected.

Once Wells leaves, Boo stands and stretches, yawning widely. Clarke is struck suddenly by what a beautiful cat he is, long and lean and jet-black, like a little panther.

“Get down from there you big dork,” she says, reaching up to him. He looks at the floor, considering the leap down, then steps onto Clarke’s shoulder, letting her grab him around the middle and pull him against her chest. He doesn’t lean into her, and after a moment of Clarke scratching the top of his head, he pushes away for her to be set down, but there’s no mistaking the rumbling purr Clarke felt in his chest.

“I’ll break you down, just wait,” she says, as she leaves him sitting alone in the living room.

 

Clarke and her friends meet for drinks almost every week, so when Friday rolls around, she scratches Boo’s head and leaves him to fend for himself in the house for the evening.

The whole gang is at the bar, Raven and Wells first, coming from work, then Jasper, Monty, and Harper, Maya shows up, and Miller ambles in. The only person missing is Bellamy, but Clarke doesn’t think about it much – he mostly only argues with her anyway, so if anything, tonight will be more peaceful than usual. But it nags at Clarke until thirty minutes in, and one drink under her belt, she blurts, “Where’s Bellamy?”

Wells and Raven exchange a glance, while Miller, who’s Bellamy’s roommate, stares at the table of their booth.

“He’s visiting Octavia,” Wells answers finally.

“Oookay,” Clarke says. “How long will he be gone?”

Wells and Raven look at each other again. “We don’t know.”

“What?”

“Well, Octavia got in a car accident,” Raven says. “So Bellamy went to help take care of her.”

“What! Is she okay?” Clarke nearly shouts.

“She’s fine,” Raven rolls her eyes. “But she’s got some broken bones, and you know how Bellamy worries, so he went to see her. He’ll probably be gone for a while.”

Clarke’s brow furrows at her nonchalance, and she turns to Wells. “Who’s your partner while he’s out then?”

Wells nods to Raven. “She’s left her desk behind for the moment.”

“Is your leg okay to do that?” Clarke asks, concerned.

“My leg’s fine. We don’t even see that much action anyway.”

Clarke nods, but she can’t get the frown off her face. “Octavia was in a car accident? Jesus, why didn’t anyone tell me? I should call her.”

“Yeah, but not right now,” Wells soothes. “We’re out, you should relax. Call her tomorrow.”

“Yeah, okay,” Clarke agrees, and tries to forget about it. But it’s hard to shake that Octavia was in an accident that she didn’t know about, and that Bellamy left town indefinitely without her being aware of it.

It shouldn’t bug her so much, because she and Bellamy aren’t even close, really. But they see each other every week, at the bar, or at Monty and Jasper’s game night, or when she visits the police station to see Raven or Wells. He’s a pretty steady part of her life, and she feels disconcerted that that steadiness has been interrupted.

She tells herself that it’s stupid, because they mostly just argue, but now that he’s not here she feels like her night out is missing something. She _likes_ arguing with Bellamy, and teasing him about the girls he hits on, and sometimes challenging him to see which of them can get a girl’s number first.

Plus, Bellamy’s the most tactile of all their friends, so when Clarke’s going through a dry spell, which she _is_ , Bellamy’s a good person to get some casual physical contact from without having to sleep with anyone or think about it too hard. His warm arm around her shoulders while they sit in a booth, his side pressed against hers while they wait at the bar, her head propped on his shoulder – she tries to convince herself that the sudden absence of his casual affection isn’t bothering her.

When she’s had more to drink, she pulls her phone out of her back pocket, looking at the blank screen. She and Bellamy don’t text each other often, but the last messages they exchanged are from a month ago, when he asked if she would be at game night, so it’s not completely weird to check in every now and then.

She types out, _heard Octavia was in an accident and you’re helping her recover. I hope she’s doing well. Bar night is boring without you._ She hits send, but then realizes, in her tipsy state of mind, that that might sound a bit selfish, so she adds, _not that I’m saying you should be here instead of there. I’m glad you’re taking care of O. Just, missing your stupid opinions a bit._ She sends it and then puts the phone away, trying to forget about Bellamy for the rest of the night.

But when she stumbles through her front door a few hours later, her notifications are still frustratingly blank. Octavia lives in a different timezone, so there’s no way he could’ve been asleep when she sent those messages, but he hasn’t responded.

“Why aren’t you talking to me?” she whines, flopping on the couch, a deepening frown lining her face. “Stupid Bellamy.”

She doesn’t hear the soft padding of paws across the floor until Boo jumps onto the couch next to her.

“Oh, hi bud,” she says, raising her hand to scratch his ears. He looks straight at her and meows. It’s the first time he’s made any vocal noises, Clarke realizes, and her mouth drops open.

“Oh my goodness, do that again!” she cries, and Boo does, meowing and butting his head against her hand, which has stopped moving.

“My cat doesn’t hate me, thank God,” she says, and feels like laughing and crying.

She looks at her phone again. Bellamy wouldn’t just ignore her. She grabs it and clicks Octavia’s number before she can overthink it.

“Clarke?” a tired voice picks up after three rings.

“Hi O,” Clarke says, surprised when Boo suddenly walks right onto her lap and lays down, looking up at her face.

“Why are you calling so late?” Octavia asks over the line.

“I want to talk to your brother,” her voice only stumbles a little bit from the alcohol.

“What do you mean you want to talk to my brother? Are you drunk?”

“Almost,” Clarke says, optimistically. “Isn’t Bellamy with you? Raven and Wells said that you were in a car accident—hey how are you feeling, by the way? I should have asked that first, sorry, I’m distracted—and Bellamy is staying with you while you recover.”

There’s a pause on Octavia’s end. “Uh, I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but they’re lying. I wasn’t in an accident and Bell’s not with me. Although now I’m a little concerned. Why did they tell you that?”

“Because Bell wasn’t at bar night and I asked where he was. What the _fuck._ ”

“This is really fucking weird but it’s too late for me to deal with this right now. I’ll call Raven and my brother in the morning and figure out what’s going on.”

“Um, okay. Let me know what you find out?” Clarke says.

“You got it. ‘Night, Clarke.”

“Goodnight Octavia.”

She hangs up the phone and drops her head against the couch.

_What the fuck?_

Boo nudges her hand until she pets him.

 

Clarke wakes up the next morning with a mild hangover and Boo curled up against her ribs. He purrs softly when she scratches his head, leaning into her hand. But after a moment he yawns widely and stands, jumps off the bed and wanders down the hall.

“Fine, run away from my love and affection,” she grumbles.

She doesn’t notice, as she dresses in an old t-shirt and her paint jeans, makes breakfast for herself and Boo, and plants herself in her art room for several hours, that Octavia never calls her back. She maybe should, given that she sketches a true to scale portrait of Bellamy’s face, almost without thinking about it.

But by the time she lets herself consciously think about much of anything, an alarm on her phone is beeping, reminding her of the early dinner Abby had scheduled with her weeks ago.

 

Dinner is less than ideal, though Clarke hardly expected anything else. She’s barely holding it together as she leaves the restaurant, hugging her mother briefly and trying to ignore her parting comments to “Think about what I said, honey! You could come to the gala with me next month if you change your mind!”

She grits out “Okay mother,” and walks to her car, doing her best not to stomp, but not quite succeeding.

It wouldn’t be so bad, but she decides to stop for coffee on the way home, figuring she deserves a pick-me-up for dealing with Abby, and runs into Lexa smack in the middle of the coffee shop. There’s a lot of fumbling with her hands as Lexa explains that she’s in town for an event she was hired to plan, and asks Clarke about her own work.

“Would you like to sit,” Lexa gestures to a table, “and have coffee with me?”

“No,” Clarke says, taken aback. “No, I was just—to go,” she fumbles, barely even coherent.

Lexa nods, like she was completely expecting this, and says, “You still can’t let go of the past.”

Clarke gapes for a moment, but pulls herself together.

“Exactly the opposite, actually,” she says. “That’s why I don’t care to speak with you. I’ve let go of the past. I’m not interested in revisiting it.”

She walks past Lexa and out the door, only realizing when she makes it to her car that she forgot her coffee.

“Ah, fuck.”

 

She gets home and realizes she has a missed call from Octavia. She settles on the couch to call her back, sighing loudly, and Boo hops up to join her. She scratches the top of his head, a little surprised when he lets her.

“Hey,” Octavia says when she picks up. Clarke feels Boo stiffen under her fingers. “I found out what’s going on with Bellamy. He’s undercover.”

“What?” Clarke asks. “That doesn’t make sense--why would Wells and Raven lie to me about that?”

“Apparently they hadn’t discussed it before it came up and they panicked or something and came up with the story that he was with me, but they told me I could tell you the truth. Since they sort of had to tell me.”

“Did they say how long he’d be undercover? Are they in contact with him?”

“No word on length, hopefully only a month or two. And very minimal contact, apparently.” Clarke hears a strange sort of smile in Octavia’s voice, but she’s too tired to question it or continue the conversation. Boo looks like he agrees; his ears are turned back like he’s angry.

“Okay, well thank you for letting me know. Um, call me again if you find out anything else you’re allowed to tell me?”

“Sure Clarke. Talk to you later.”

“Bye, O.”

She ends the call and flops back across the couch. Boo settles next to her.

“Undercover? That makes no fucking sense. And why wouldn’t Octavia have known in the first place, surely he wouldn’t go undercover without telling his own sister?” she mumbles to herself. Boo just meows in annoyance and nudges at her hand.

She texts Raven and Wells, a simple  _hate u_ for each of them.

She spots a book lying open in front of her bookshelf across the room. Her eyes narrow, then flick back to the cat. “Did you do that?” He looks away suspiciously.

“Trickster cat,” she accuses, but she already feels better relaxing and cuddling with him than she has all day.

 

When she realizes a week later, she’s embarrassed that she missed so many signs. She walks into the living room after a meeting with a client, and Boo is sitting on the floor, doing what can only be described as reading a book. It’s the fifth one he’s managed to knock from the shelves in a week, and he’s actually using his tiny nose to turn a page. It looks like a struggle, but he gets it eventually, and then resumes reading.

Everything seems to fit into place all at once.

“Oh my god,” she mutters, and rushes back into her bedroom, slamming the door in her shock. She calls Wells immediately.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“I might be going crazy, but if I am, it is your responsibility as my lifelong best friend to be gentle with me, and not make fun of me. Got it?”

“I’m on board, go on.”

“Is my new pet cat… a human?” she asks cautiously, cringing at how stupid she sounds.

Wells doesn’t say anything.

“Is my new pet cat… a specific human? Maybe like your partner, Bellamy Blake?”

“Clarke,” he says slowly, and that’s all she needs to know.

“Oh god, I was hoping you were going to tell me I’m crazy.”

“How’d you figure it out?” Wells asks.

“He’s _reading_. And I don’t know, just a feeling. I didn’t buy the undercover story, and it doesn’t make sense for Bellamy to just disappear on me.”

“Thinking rather highly of yourself there, aren’t you?” Wells teases.

She scowls. “You’re not as funny as you think you are Jaha. Just tell me how this happened.”

“Turns out the woman we were taking to the station was a witch. I don’t know if she would have done something else and just thought this was a particularly great joke for October, but yeah. One second Bellamy was a cop, the next he was a cat. She got away; Raven and I are working on tracking her down to get it reversed. No luck yet.”

“Wow, this is really. Real. Wow. Okay. And I’ve got a cat that used to be my friend living with me. A cat that _is_ my friend. He’s still Bellamy. Shit, what if you guys can’t find the witch?” she asks.

“I don’t know. We’re doing everything we can, I don’t want to think about anything else right now.” Wells sounds exhausted.

“How am I supposed to act around my cat now?”

Wells snorts. “You’re on your own with that one. Just keep him alive so Raven and I can get him changed back.”

“Aye aye captain,” she jokes. “He’s been sleeping next to me every night,” she realizes out loud.

“Does that bother you now?”

“No,” she says. “But it maybe explains why he never gets on my bed while I’m awake. It’s like he just ends up there in the middle of the night. And he’s kind of weird about letting me be affectionate. Huh. And the refusal to eat cat food. It all makes sense now.”

Wells agrees that that all sounds very in character for Bellamy.

“Alright, well I have to go talk to my asshole cat and tell him I know… who he is, I guess. God, this is strange.”

“We’re working as fast as we can,” Wells assures her.

“I know.”

It’s an awkward, one-sided conversation when she tells Bellamy that she knows the big secret now. She’s talked to him a lot over the past two weeks, but it was different when she was just rambling to someone she thought couldn’t understand.

“I miss you,” she says when she’s done. “I don’t know if that counts for anything, but I’ve missed you. Still will, I guess, since you can’t talk back to me really.”

He just looks at her with large brown eyes, then curls himself around her legs.

 

The longing grows more acute once she knows. There’s something terribly taunting in having Bellamy so close and yet so far away. He still sleeps next to her at night, and stops pretending that’s not what he’s doing. He still darts out of the room before she changes her clothes, though she hadn’t realized that was what he was doing until now.

She gets the books down from the shelf for him now, and tries to choose which tv shows to watch based on what she knows he likes. He often ends up perched next to her, his eyes glued on the screen. She feels awful for how bored he must have been before she knew.

 

Halloween creeps up on them, and it makes Clarke anxious. If this was all an angry Halloween prank from a witch, what happens when the holiday comes and goes? She buys candy and gets ready for the trick-or-treaters, but she’s mostly thinking about how much she wishes she could cuddle with the _real_ , human Bellamy rather than his cat-self. She also wishes she could argue with him again.

He’s gotten to see her up close and personal for the last month, but she’s hardly gotten to see anything of him, really. And she wants to.

They spend Halloween evening watching movies (it’s a little unnerving when they remember the similarities between Binx in Hocus Pocus and Bellamy’s current situation) with Clarke pausing to answer the door and hand out candy.

 

When she wakes up the next morning, Bellamy isn’t there next to her hip or curled up on her hair the way he usually is. She glances around the room for him, but he’s not there either. But it’s only when she wanders the house and still can’t find him that she starts to panic.

Bellamy wouldn’t run away, would he? Even if he _was_ currently an asshole cat.

But then she spots a paper on her kitchen table, and wanders over. It’s a note in what she recognizes as Bellamy’s messy scrawl. She frowns, unable to process it for a moment. But then--

_Don’t freak out._

_See you soon._

_-B_

“See you soon?” she whispers, just as her doorbell chimes.

She walks to the door, her heart in her throat. She takes a deep breath before she opens it, and when she does, Bellamy is standing there. He’s human again, clad in dark jeans, boots, and a warm jacket turned up around his neck to guard from the early morning cold.

“Hi,” he says, and he sounds breathless.

“Hi.” She can’t stop smiling.

“Can I come in?” He’s grinning too.

She nods and gestures him in, closing the door behind him.

“What happened?” she asks. “Did Wells and Raven find the witch?”

“Dunno,” he answers. “I haven’t bothered telling them yet.”

“What? Why?” She’s surprised.

He reaches for her waist and pulls her two steps forward into him. “Kind of had more pressing things to attend to.”

“Oh,” she says, tilting her head. “Like what?”

He shakes his head ruefully. “This,” he says, and leans down to meet her lips.

 

Two Months Later

It’s Christmas Eve, and Bellamy is curled up against her in bed. They had a fun night with their friends, but she’s happy to be alone with him now. They’ve been talking quietly, but he trailed off in the middle of a sentence a minute ago, and she knows he’s just about to drop off.

She waits for it, stroking a hand through his hair. And after a couple minutes--there it is. A soft purr coming from deep in his chest, gently lulling her to sleep with him.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please drop me some kudos or comments if you enjoyed this!


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